


a lesson in honesty

by rievu



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: A lesson in honesty, M/M, and green light flickering off amongst it all, and the terrible intimacy of being known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rievu/pseuds/rievu
Summary: Nick whispers, “Doesn’t it seem like we should both be afraid of doing dangerous things by now?”Gatsby chuckles — breath hot against Nick’s lips — and replies, “Never, old sport.”// featuring dishonest men, green light, and the terrible intimacy of being known
Relationships: Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby
Comments: 8
Kudos: 113





	a lesson in honesty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yuanmau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuanmau/gifts).



> a 30 minute writing challenge given to me by my dear friend :0  
> it has been literally 5 years since i last read this book though, so forgive me for thematical or character errors.

Nick once left home to find his fortune, and he expected to pry apart the glittering buildings of New York for it. Instead, he finds himself prying apart Gatsby’s legs with trembling hands while the taste of golden bourbon still burns viciously at the back of his throat.

To his credit, Gatsby doesn’t say anything about the tremble in Nick’s hands. Instead, he allows Nick to open them wide, and when they’re wide enough, he reaches over and pulls Nick in by his collar. Their eyes meet, and Nick whispers, “Doesn’t it seem like we should both be afraid of doing dangerous things by now?”

Gatsby chuckles — breath hot against Nick’s lips — and replies, “Never, old sport.” 

At the end of it all, in the midst of rumpled sheets and the clothes that they’ve haphazardly thrown around, Nick lies next to Gatsby, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. The window curtain hangs slightly ajar, and the dozens of twinkling lights from the other houses and hung amongst the trees trickle in, casting Gatsby in shadow and light. it is anything but green though.

The man in question cocks his head slightly to one side and sighs out, “It’s been a long ride, hasn’t it?”

“Are you referring to me or are you referring to them?” Nick asks. 

Gatsby laughs at that. It’s not one of his full-bodied, round laughs, but it’s still one of his. Something that Nick would recognize down to the marrow of his bones. “Can’t it be both?” he quips. 

Nick lets his head fall back against the pillows and sardonically says, “Well, it seems like you did both to forget.” An edge of bitterness creeps into the slivers between his words, and he turns away from Gatsby. He’s tired. He’s tired of all the foul dust and false dreams and lies that are always floating around the edges of Gatsby and Daisy and Tom and Jordan and whoever else lives in this wretched city. He expected to find gold between the cracks of New York. Instead, he only finds grime.

Gatsby doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reaches a hand out carefully to curl around Nick, and when Nick doesn’t brush him off, he settles behind Nick. Nick doesn’t want to admit that they fit so perfectly together like this. It’s merely the terrible intimacy of being known. And Gatsby has always known Nick. Nick just isn’t sure if he knows Gatsby. 

“Nick,” Gatsby breathes out. The way Gatsby says his name makes him suck in a sharp breath. He always does it when Gatsby says his name like that. He’s so used to “old sport” being the norm. “Nick,” Gatsby repeats as he holds him tighter. “You don’t understand. I’m not trying to forget.”

“Really now,” Nick replies bitterly. He turns over, forcing more space between their bodies. The impasse between them seems far now, and the cold air settles in between the space that they leave between the rumpled sheets. “Then what about Daisy? Tom? Myrtle? If you’re not trying to forget, then what are you trying to do?”   


Gatsby comes a little closer, closing the gap. “I’ve never been good at being honest,” he admits. His voice is barely audible, but as he gets closer, Nick can still hear every word. “I’ve always run from everything in life and then I run back towards it as fast as I can, trying to take it back.”

“You can’t,” Nick interrupts. “You can’t do that anymore.”

“No,” Gatsby murmurs. “I suppose not. But don’t you want to? Don’t you want to run and grab it all? This is America, land of opportunity, land of the biggest, greatest dreams that you could ever possibly have. Don’t you want to?”

Nick doesn’t reply because any reply other than yes would’ve been a heavy lie on his tongue. He fled the fields of the Midwest for the glitter and gold of New York. He gazes at Gatsby, draped in shadow, and he murmurs, “We should know better.”

“But what if this time, it worked?” Gatsby insists. “What if this time… What if this time, it was good?”

Nick reaches a hand up and rests it on Gatsby’s cheek. “It was,” he says sadly. “But it’s gone now. No amount of wishing is going to turn back time, and we’ll be left running and running and running.”

“No, no,” Gatsby says. His voice hitches up, fervent and wanting, and he continues, “I was wrong, I know, I  _ know _ that. But don’t we have each other now? Do we need to keep running?”

“What do you mean?”

“We have each other now.”

Nick freezes: hand still cupped around Gatsby’s cheek, legs stiff and still, shoulders tense. In an aching voice, he whispers, “I thought you wanted Daisy.”

“Daisy…” Gatsby trails off. He reaches to hold onto Nick’s hand on his cheek, and he pulls it to hold between them. He holds Nick’s hand with both of his, clasped between them like some sort of prayer. “Daisy is gold, Nick,” he murmurs. “She’s glittering gold and everything that I wanted but I couldn’t have. She was pure gold. But Nick, you and I, we are two halves of the same whole. Can’t you see? I was blind, blind to not see you earlier, blinded by my own endless greed, blinded by gold. You know it too. That golf player you liked? She’s just glitter at the end of the day. They all are.”

Gatsby has never been an honest man, and Nick knows his penchant for wispy lies. This is not one of them though. This is a truth that Nick has seen for himself during his days in New York. He’s seen it every day on his way to work, during every party at Gatsby’s house, and during nearly every conversation he’s had with Daisy. Nick sighs, “So what do you propose? You have nothing left for yourself in this city except an empty house, and I have a soulless job.”

“I have you,” Gatsby says as he squeezes Nick’s hand.

“What?”

“I have you,” he repeats, saying it almost like a benediction. “What if we could stop running and just stay like this? Aren’t you tired of running too?”

Nick has always been tired. But something about the way Gatsby says it makes him green. “Is this how you asked Daisy to stay with you?” he says with a curl of his lip.

Gatsby flinches. 

Nick casts his gaze away and mutters, “That was cruel of me.”

“It was,” Gatsby says. He lets go of one hand to tip Nick’s chin up and force his gaze back on Gatsby himself. “But Nick, I am being honest with you, as honest as I have ever been, and I will admit, I’m not an honest man. But will you stay?”

His voice is delicate, worn whisper-thin, but Nick can see the vulnerability bright as green light. And Nick  _ knows, _ he knows that he should be afraid of doing dangerous things now, of balancing across these fine lines, but he decides that there is one thing still left in New York worth his time.  Instead of answering, Nick pulls Gatsby closer and kisses him as honestly as he can.

Nick once left home to find his future, but he finds a love buried between the glittering skyline of New York. He’s not sure if he still has the same dream. If anything, the city tore away his hopes and dreams like a monster, and there is nothing left but the sound of jazz distantly floating in the air. But he is here, and instead of prying apart the city for gold, he has something entirely different in hand.

Nick holds Gatsby’s hand tenderly in his own. And he is home there.


End file.
